


Two Headed Boy

by rocksafella



Series: drabbles for the drab-feeling [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, Mute!Ryan, bc fight me, but they arent vital so i didnt tag them, geoff and jack are also mentioned, so is michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:55:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocksafella/pseuds/rocksafella
Summary: Gavin has an indirect hand in the injury of two of his crewmembers and has a little trouble not pushing all the blame on himself.





	Two Headed Boy

**Author's Note:**

> so in between writing jtswifltf i had some shyte go down and needed to vent. listening to AJJ and neutral milk hotel on repeat for a long time eventually gave me this. its kind of sad and mentions a lot of depressing stuff because its mostly vent, so be warned! if you get sad please take a min for yourself
> 
> in ANY CASE i give you freewood angst

Gavin thinks this might be it, his most depressing moment. As he sits at the bar, nursing his drink, he can mentally picture his life like one giant tree with events of his life branching out into alternate realities. If he hadn’t done this, this wouldn’t have happened, and so on.

Like today. If he hadn’t somehow tipped those men off to what was happening, Jeremy and Trevor wouldn’t be nursing mortal wounds right now. Gavin hasn’t cried in a long time but he thinks he’d like to, just to bring all his internal frustrations and sadnesses up from the depths of where he suppresses his emotions. And when Gavin thinks about it he knows he truly hasn’t _cried_ , he hasn’t done it with genuine feeling in so long.

As Gavin sips his drink, ignorant to the strength, he muses that with all his acting he probably couldn’t cry now if he wanted to. His emotions come in small bursts but often times his smiles fall when nobody is looking. He even fools Burnie now.

 

===

 

When he gets back to the penthouse it’s early the next day or very, very late yesterday- whatever way you look at it, he knows getting a hotel might have been a better idea. Instead he stumbles in through the door as quietly as a drunk can, body smarting from a tumble or two on the walk home. He’s stupid-intoxicated, far beyond any means of actual adult function. His first course of action is to go straight to the kitchen for another drink, despite knowing he’ll be very sick if he doesn’t stop.

Sometimes he likes to ignore the fact that self harm isn’t always self inflicted wounds. Like Jack said to him once, it takes many horrible forms- drinking to excess, refusing yourself food, reckless behavior. Gavin hates to think of his habits as self harm because that leads to the idea that maybe he’s depressed and that’s not a title Ramsey’s Golden Boy needs.

 

He’s poured himself a sloppy glass of whiskey and he’s halfway to the balcony with the intent to watch the sun rise when he spots Ryan sitting on the couch. Gavin stops, brain whirring to puzzle out why he might be there. After a moment he connects the dismantled guns to the man and hiccup-laughs to himself, like it’s some inside joke.

“Lov- _lovely_ Ryan, what’re you doing up? ‘S _late_ , innit?” he asks, unaware of it but remotely sure he sounds as drunk as he is. All he gets is a raised eyebrow in return. That makes Gavin laugh, bubbly little crows that wrench out of his throat, happily liberated by Jack Daniels. The idea that Ryan can give him a sarcastic answer without even having to say anything just seems so _hilarious_ in that moment that Gavin can’t help it.

He stands there swaying for a moment, head turned away from Ryan toward the big windows set into the opposite wall. He can feel the room rolling under him and for a brief moment he worries about falling on his ass, not wanting to spill his drink on his fancy shirt. At some point he starts humming something to himself, something slow and most likely off-key but it puts a purpose to his side-to-side stance.

After a moment, he remembers Ryan is there and a thought occurs and Gavin latches onto it happily. He shakily half-drops his glass on the same table as Ryan’s guns and holds a delicate hand out towards him. “Ryan,” he bubbles, sloppy grin splitting his face, “Ryan, come dance with me.” His hand wavers just a bit, his vision threatening to split in two. Ryan just regards him for a moment and there’s a second where Gavin doesn’t know how to read him. As someone who _often_ has to read people for a living Gavin has gotten used to doing it without thinking but out of everyone, Ryan always gives him the most trouble.

It doesn’t help that for a while Gavin has had some sort of _crush_ on him. He doesn’t want to call it a crush, because it can’t be, but there’s a tiny vulnerable part of his heart and mind that needs someone to hold him when he has trouble keeping his façade up. For whatever reason, his brain has fit Ryan into the space that need creates.

 

Ryan doesn’t immediately stand to oblige him. Gavin is about to put his pout on and beg him but Ryan gets up before he can remember how. He’s quiet as he arranges his guns in a manner that seems to please him, quiet as he comes around the coffee table to stand within the edges of Gavin’s space bubble. Gavin _happily_ welcomes it and immediately tries to get Ryan to salsa, though it’s hardly a movement he’d call a salsa- if he weren’t piss drunk.

Gavin is laughing, though, and Ryan goes along with it for a time so Gavin forgets that he’s sauced and sloppy and messy and just enjoys himself. The two of them move through a number of silly dances, some of them just childish and movement for the sake of movement and after a while of that, Gavin tires. He doesn’t notice it until Ryan is stilling him with a sound at the back of his throat, a hand on one of Gavin’s slim hips.

He looks up at his face for the first time in a while and finds his vision is too blurry to just be a side effect of all the alcohol he’s ingested. Gavin tries to blink away tears while he follows the motions of Ryan’s body, from the hand that gets a gentle hold of his waist to the twin that places Gavin’s own where they should be. One goes on one of Ryan’s broad shoulders, his other hand joining with one of Ryan’s. Gavin can’t rid himself of his tears even as Ryan starts a gentle one-two-three rhythm of an almost-waltz. He keeps his gaze down, relying on his wild hair and the lack of light to hide his tears.

He doesn’t know why or how he’s crying. He doesn’t remember how and he knows it’s not voluntary, these aren’t crocodile tears. He hasn’t felt this deep sadness bubble to the surface since the first time he was truly on his own and the realization hit him with no mercy, shattering his childish outlook on life.

Ryan seems to know regardless of all Gavin’s efforts though and rather than mock him or say something, he starts up a melody. The sound comes from somewhere in his chest and as they sway and step gently, Gavin can’t stop his eyes from leaking anymore.

The tears flow fat and unhindered from his eyes and Gavin is aware of his face flushing, his body feeling warm in an unpleasant way he’s become unfamiliar with. He leans his head against Ryan, unsure if he’s allowed- but Ryan doesn’t stop their waltz and if anything, the melody becomes softer, like he’s trying to soothe him.

 

Gavin has never been a loud crier. Even when he was a child, Gavin had never been loud. Nothing had made him that way, no abuse or necessity forced him to quiet himself. If he tried, he could recall sitting on the front porch of his childhood home clutching his ripped stuffed animal, tears rolling down his face as he waited to show his mother.

Hiding in the stall in middle school, face buried in the sleeve of his jumper so the tears didn’t fall to the ground, desperately wishing the other children would just leave him be.

Sitting on the roof of his latest foster home at sixteen, hiccupping past a cigarette, body desperately craving some form of comfort but knowing so jarringly that it would never come.

All Gavin can recall in that moment is the day’s past events. Everyone, even Geoff, promising it wasn’t him- Trevor and Jeremy would be okay, Gavin did his job perfectly, it wasn’t him, it wasn’t him- but it had to be. He was the one in the room, he was the one buying _everyone_ time. He was the one who had claimed it would be easy to fool some bottom-of-the-food-chain losers. Everyone had agreed with him and not only that, they’d willingly put their trust in him. Gavin feels his body shake with a little hiccupping sob as he remembers how excited Jeremy had been to be on another fantastic heist with the crew, how Trevor had reigned in his enthusiasm but felt it all the same.

Now both of them were half dead in matching hospital beds at Caleb’s back-alley clinic and Gavin hadn’t even gotten a scratch.

 

Ryan doesn’t halt the waltz or even slow down, but something in the way he puts just a little more sway into the motions makes Gavin cry just a little harder. He doesn’t deserve this but here he is anyway.

It takes a long time but eventually the tears dry up. For once it’s not because Gavin forces them to, which is a liberating feeling. The front of Ryan’s shirt is soaked with his tears and some snot and Gavin apologizes, the words gupping out of his throat. Ryan just huffs a laugh. He slows them to just swaying, occasionally gently turning them around so their positioning isn’t static. On one such turn Gavin’s facing the windows, and over the geometrics of the city he sees the sun begin to stretch itself into the sky.

“S’almost day, Rye.” He murmurs, drinking in the sunset like he’d originally meant to do before closing his eyes to savor it. His eyes burn from crying so long and heavily but he kind of welcomes it- it’s not all his emotions released but it’s enough that he doesn’t feel like he’ll bubble over again for a while. He gets a nod from Ryan and sighs against his chest, knowing the man is just being cheeky now.

Gavin hesitates on his next words, physically stopping himself from blurting them out by pushing his face against Ryan’s chest. He doesn’t want to ask, but at the same time he does. It was Ryan that started the waltz, Gavin wants to make a similar gesture.

“Do you-“ he starts, voice muffled by Ryan’s chest, “Do you want to come to bed. With me. Not, not in a, like, not in a _come to bed with me_ way,” he amends, hurriedly trying to fix an error he’s sure he’s made. “Just, you know, in a sleep with me way. _Not_ in a sleep with me way I mean-“

Ryan stops him, his laugh so gentle and unfitting of someone who’s capable of the things Ryan has done. Gavin is always amazed Ryan can be as intricate as he is, though. He’s the only person Gavin has ever met that can spend one day mowing down an opposing gang and the next obediently trailing after a tiny little girl who _insists_ on putting Hello-Kitty stickers on everything. Including Ryan.

 

Gavin waits for the inevitable ribbing he’ll receive but instead he gets another nod. Ryan takes his hands off and away from Gavin but he does it to simply make a quick series of motions with his hands- Gavin has to process for a moment but he finally gets the jist. “Okay, yeah,” he says. Ryan needs to change into clothes that are better for sleeping in and clean up his guns and Gavin figures he should take care of himself some too. He wavers down towards the hallway, assuming Ryan will follow when he’s ready.

As much as everyone tries to keep their stuff separate, the penthouse is a cesspool of accidentally traded belongings. Clothes are the biggest culprits. When Gavin gets to his room he changes into clothes he knows can’t be his- the shirt, simply from the fact that it has cigarette burns in it, must be Michael’s and the pants are too wide in the hips to be his which means they must have been Jack’s at one point. Gavin wears them happily.

He’s almost dozing by the time Ryan slips into his room, curtains drawn against the bleeding sunlight. Gavin hears the door snick shut behind the new occupant and drags himself from the comforting embrace of sleep just to move himself over a little bit. Ryan takes up the space he leaves and Gavin expects him to immediately go about getting his own rest, more or less satisfied simply knowing he’s there, only to find Ryan has better ideas.

He pulls Gavin gently first to get him sitting more or less up and then towards himself. There’s a momentary struggle where Gavin gets tangled in his own limbs but they sort it out and Gavin ends up happily tangled with Ryan instead. His head rests on the hollow between his throat and where it blends into his shoulders and collarbones, one arm tucked against his body and the other thrown over Ryan. He has one leg bent and hiked up a little and the other is extended across Ryan’s shins- the position would seem awkward at first glance but Gavin starts to drift with the absent thought that he’s never been more comfortable in his entire life.

They don’t talk about anything, not the dance or Gavin’s crying and he’s thankful for it. The conversation wouldn’t be unwelcome but it would flow better another time so Gavin is thankful Ryan doesn’t try to push it now.

 

As morning soaks into the sky and Los Santos starts to awaken, Gavin and Ryan are just beginning to drift off and for the first time since joining the Fake Crew, Gavin feels a whole-body sense of _right_. He nestles himself against Ryan and doesn’t bother worrying about tomorrow’s hangover. For now he’s safe and loved and that’s all Gavin has ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> so that was a thing i wrote.
> 
> The songs I listened to while writing this (if anyone wanted to know) were, in no particular order:  
> Two Headed Boy, part 1 and 2- Neutral Milk Hotel  
> A Song Dedicated To The Memory Of Stormy The Rabbit- Andrew Jackson Jihad
> 
> the latter was what really fueled me to write this and the whole album that song belongs to is just so good. very sad but sometimes that's what you need, right??
> 
> anyway!! may the 4th be with you and all!! if you wanna talk headcanons or angst hmu over at macheenima.tumblr.com


End file.
